


Without Privacy

by Truth



Category: Alias
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-27
Updated: 2004-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Control can be a tricky thing, especially for a prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Privacy

Without Privacy

Privacy was a luxury that most people took for granted, not realizing just how little of it they really had. When you lived under a microscope, playing games with the lives of others, you had a choice to make.

Privacy was a small price to pay for power, but it required a certain mental adjustment. You had to live your entire life for an audience, whether you actually knew they were there or not. It was a mental twist that most people couldn’t manage, even when they _knew_ they were being watched. Fear, shame, disgust… they couldn’t live with the surveillance, equating physical privacy with having no secrets.

Sark knew better. Sitting alone in the deserted conference room, he knew that he was being watched. They kept careful track of his every movement, every minute, every hour. He couldn’t hide from them and wouldn’t have tried even if he could.

Surveillance was only truly effective when the subject did not know that their every movement was being observed. Information became disinformation and the watchers went from being gaolers to being pawns.

Living on the outside of your skin, controlling the subtle hints that showed stress or anger or fear, was a game that could be played with those who watched, and someone was _always_ watching.

Especially here.

He didn’t glance at the clock, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs at the ankles. It would be over an hour before the next briefing and someone would bring him his lunch after that. He had time aplenty, time to think, time to plan…. Sark always had something to think about, thoughts flowing swiftly behind the calm façade.

Rising to his feet, he shoved his hands in his pockets, heading for the door.

‘Five, four, three, two, one….’

As his hand closed over the knob, it opened, revealing the familiar and extremely irritated face of Agent Weiss. “Why do you insist on playing games? You know you’re not allowed to leave the room until the briefings are over.”

Sark smiled at him, the faintest quirk of his lips, not making any effort to step away from the doorway. "Don't tell me that you'd enjoying staying hunched over a video monitor when you could be far more comfortable in here. Can I offer you a danish? There are still a few left over from this morning."

There was a brief, frustrated growl from Weiss before he pushed past Sark, pulling the door sharply closed behind him. There was no point in attempting to go back to his video monitors. Hard won experience had taught him that Sark would simply wait twenty seconds until he was back at his post and then go for the door again. They’d spent an entire hour on this strange version of tag one day until Weiss had finally given in.

Sark had shared left-over chocolate donuts that day.

Dropping into one of the chairs, Weiss reached for a scone. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Instead of one of my other keepers, you mean?” Sark arched an eyebrow before settling in the chair across the table.

“Every day with you turns into punishment detail,” Weiss growled, tearing the scone into small pieces with his fingers. “I can understand wanting to punish the people who’re keeping you here, but you don’t do this to Vaughn or to Jack or to any of the others. You save it all for _me_ and I want to know why.”

Sark’s eyes gleamed. “You mean _they_ want to know why. Have they been giving you trouble, Eric?”

Weiss’s jaw tightened, the casual use of his first name not going unnoticed; yet another nail in his professional coffin. You were not supposed to get chummy with the enemy. “ _I_ want to know why.”

“Suffering memory loss?” Sark leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on the palm of one hand. “Or is this your way of telling me that you’re going to deny everything?”

“Why?” the question was flat. “Why me? Is it because you thought I would be the easiest to crack? Or because you know the others just wouldn’t put up with your bullshit?”

Sark watched as Weiss continued to shred his scone, fingers moving with a sharp, angry efficiency. He didn’t answer, still smiling ever so slightly as the older man concentrated on the destruction of the inoffensive pastry.

“Maybe I should act more like Vaughn,” Weiss admitted, not looking up. “I could just ignore your games and have you shot when you try to walk away.”

“You’re nothing like Vaughn,” Sark told him, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Weiss looked down at the pile of crumbs before him. “You say that as if it’s something to be proud of.”

“It is.”

“Making comments like that about the people I call friends isn’t going to earn you any merit badges,” Weiss snapped, flushing as he spoke. Sark had goaded him into a reaction and that was never good.

Sark’s smile sharpened. “People _you_ call friends… then what do they call you?”

“Give it up.” Weiss rose to his feet, brushing crumbs from his hands. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”

Seated at the table, Sark didn’t move, watching as Weiss turned to stalk from the room. As the door closed behind him, Sark turned in his chair, slouching down in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankles. It took exactly twenty seconds for Weiss to return to his terminal; Sark had timed it as well.

‘Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen….’

Looking up, he addressed the pick-up that he knew was set in the ceiling directly above his seat.

“’Enough trouble’?” His faint smile widened. “I’ve barely begun.”


End file.
